Electronic Gags

by Kudakwashe Muzira

  Freddie sat two tables away from a young hooker who sat glumly, scanning the bar for a potential client. Her blouse had no collar and her NAST looked well on her neck. Round her long elegant neck, the electronic gag looked more like an adornment than a tool of suppression. If the regime wants someone to advertise the beauty of their trackers, they should use this girl, Freddie reflected.

  A man entered the bar and sat next to the hooker.

  “Hi,” he said

  She nodded at him.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  She mouthed a yes.

  “Come on, are you dumb?”

  She pointed at her electronic gag.

  “Oh that,” the man said. “Here is some airtime.” He handed her an airtime card. “Tonight, I shall pay for your speech and your beer.”

  She scratched the card, pulled out the keypad and display panel of her electronic gag and entered the airtime code. “Thanks,” she said after checking her balance.

  “Thanks... that is all I get after giving you hundred lucres worth of airtime?”

  “Thanks very much,” she said with a laugh.

  “That’s better. What are you drinking?”

  “A beer will do.”

  The man went to the counter and bought two beers. Freddie watched as the man and the hooker chatted. Every now and then, the hooker checked the balance of her NAST, but the man rumbled on and on without checking his NASP account. Whoever he was, he wasn’t short of money. Maybe he is a CIB agent and he is investigating the hooker, Freddie thought.

  Freddie downed his beer and walked out of the bar. This was not the Pleasure Zone he knew. Gone were the debates, the jokes, the banter and the laughter. Pleasure Zone will never be the same, Freddie thought sadly. The whole country will never be the same.

  In the morning, Freddie was shocked when he dialed *100#. He was only left with eighty-six lucres in his account. He had blown more than four lucres talking in his sleep. I hope I didn’t say anything bad about the Ward regime. All the people he had heard talking in their sleep did so in incomprehensible utterances and he hoped it was the same with him.

  He went to the bathroom and took a shower. Although the NAST manual said the electronic gag was waterproof, it warned against speaking or singing in the shower when one didn’t have enough airtime because water would worsen the resultant electric shock.

  God, please kill Ward, Freddie thought as he scrubbed himself. When he got out of the shower, he looked at himself in the mirror. The electronic gag looked so foreign on his naked body that his first instinct was to tear it from his neck. His hands shook as he resisted the urge to rip the device from his neck. The electronic gag was a violation of his freedom and privacy. Freddie couldn’t think of a worse form of humiliation. How much does the device cost? Hospitals are short of drugs, schools need books and civil servants are grossly underpaid. And the government sees it fit to waste taxpayers’ money manufacturing these useless gadgets.

  Melissa set up the breakfast table and they ate in silence. They had agreed to speak only when it was necessary. Freddie opened his mouth and shut it just in time to avoid a comment on the taste of the western omelet.

  The sight of the electronic gag on his mother’s neck filled Freddie with rage. In the wildlife refuge, he never enjoyed putting trackers on animals and only did it when it was necessary. His mother never talked about politics and had accepted her fate under the Ward regime, but the regime had fitted her with a tracker. The trackers that the government had put on people were worse than the trackers Freddie and his colleagues put on wild animals. Wild animal trackers were much lighter than NASTs and they did not gag animals, administer electric shocks on animals or contain deadly explosives. Ward thinks we are worse than animals, Freddie thought angrily.

  “We leave for the park Monday morning,” he said, chewing, hoping the food in his mouth would distort his voice and stop it from activating his electronic gag. “We will discuss our travel arrangements at twelve o’clock when we get four minutes free airtime for the national anthem.”

  Melissa nodded. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at her son. Freddie was only twenty-seven and had a whole life ahead of him, but his world had been torn apart. First he lost his best friend, then his girlfriend and his grandmother, and now NASP had taken all his freedom of speech. Melissa had always thought that Freddie and Tiffany made a good couple. Although Freddie tried his best not to show it, Melissa knew he was hurting inside. She had raised him alone after his father ditched her when she was pregnant. Freddie and Kyle were the only family she had left. She didn’t know what she would do if something happened to them.

  “I’m going out to see Kyle,” Freddie said.

  “Bring him some breakfast,” Melissa said. “Your cousin will starve on his computer.”

  Freddie nodded and filled a lunchbox with food and a Thermos with coffee.

  Melissa pulled out the keypad and display panel of her electronic gag and dialed *100#. She sighed with relief when she found out that her account had ninety-nine lucres twenty-four cents.

  Freddie carried the lunchbox and Thermos to Grandma Nicole’s house, now Kyle’s house. He looked at the necks of the people he met, checking whether they had NASTs, and they also looked at his neck.

  He found his cousin in the basement, furiously tapping the keys of his computer. He was sporting an electronic gag on his neck.

  “Hi there, computer genius.” He put the food and coffee on the desk beside the monitor. “I brought you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks man,” Kyle said without taking his eyes off the computer. “So how is Aunt Melissa?”

  “She is fine. I’m taking her to the wildlife refuge on Monday for a two-week holiday. My invitation still stands... you can come with us to the wildlife refuge.”

  “I wish I could.” He finally took his eyes off the computer. “I have to finish making Super Death Race before I can think of travelling.”

  “If you change your mind let me know... How far have you gone with Super Death Race?”

  “I thought I had finished it yesterday but I realized the game still needs some improvements for it to take the world market by the storm.”

  “I am looking at a future millionaire,” Freddie teased.

  “It’s only a matter of time before I make it into the big time.” He opened the lunchbox and his eyes widened when he saw the western omelet and toast. “If you keep on bringing me food I will remember you when I become a video game mogul.”

  “How does the dog collar feel on your neck?”

  “It feels like a dog collar,” Kyle said, fingering his electronic gag.

  Freddie checked the balance of his electronic gag. “See you, man. I have just blown sixty cents talking to you. Stay safe. Keep the door locked at all times. Goodbye.”

  “See you, man.”

  “One more thing... I need your ID number. You never know… I might want to phone you or send you a message using NASP.”

  “NASP, NAST... what exactly is the name of these dog collars?” Kyle asked.

  “According to the manual, the dog collar is called NAST, short for National Antiterrorist Surveillance Tool… and the program that runs it is called NASP, short for National Antiterrorist Surveillance Program.”

  “This is all bullshit,” Kyle said.

  “Mind your language,” Freddie warned. “The supreme leader might be listening. I’m waiting for your ID number.”

  Kyle scribbled his ID number on a piece of paper. Freddie entered the number in his electronic gag and waved Kyle goodbye.

  When he arrived at his mother’s house, Freddie opened his laptop and searched the web for news about electronic gags. He found an article on Yahoo News and added a long passionate comment, begging the international community to free his country from Ward. He copied the comment and posted it to all major international news sites. Although he knew that his posts were useless, he posted them because they made him feel he was doing something to fig
ht the Ward regime. No foreign power could oust President Brandon Ward, the most powerful man on Earth. Brandon Ward had UN veto power and he had enough weapons of mass destruction to pulverize the rest of the world. If the American people wanted change, they had to fight for it themselves. Other countries could only give them morale support. America’s former allies had pulled out of NATO in protest against the Ward regime but this didn’t worry Brandon Ward and his National Party.

  Freddie jumped when he looked at his watch. “Mom it’s seconds to twelve,” he cried. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” Melissa said, coming out of the kitchen.

  “We have four minutes of free airtime,” Freddie said. “If you have anything to say, please say it now at no cost.”

  “I just want to tell you that I love you and I’m sorry for all that has happened to us,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “What did we do to deserve this?”

  “I’m sorry, mom,” Freddie said. “Things will work out.”

  “Freddie please... don’t do anything silly,” she begged. “We don’t want trouble. Stay safe.”

  “Don’t worry, mom… I will keep out of trouble.” He looked at his watch. “We still have more than three minutes of free airtime. You will enjoy your stay with me at the wildlife refuge.”

  “You are right, Freddie… I need a break from this place,” she said. “I don’t like the way the neighbors are looking at me. They think you betrayed Michael.”

  “I’m glad you are coming with me, mom,” he said. “Grandma is dead, my girlfriend dumped me… that makes you the only woman in my life at the moment, mom.”

  “Maybe Tiffany will come around,” Melissa said. “You two were such a lovely couple.”

  “That’s what I thought.” he said. “It’s over. I don’t want her back.”

  “Why? All relationships experience bad patches. I believe she still loves you.”

  “Mom, do you believe I betrayed Michael? Do you believe I am a CIB informer?”

  “Of course not! You’d never do such a terrible thing.”

  “My point exactly. You believe in me, mom. Tiffany doesn’t believe in me at all. If she really loved me, she would have believed in me or she would at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I suppose you are right,” she said, smoothing her blouse. “That girl doesn’t deserve you. However, you must know that a mother’s love is different from a girlfriend’s love. Maybe I would react differently if I was in her shoes.”

  “It’s over between Tiffany and me. I’m glad it happened before I committed myself to her.”

  “You never know, Freddie. Maybe you will get back together.”

  He consulted his watch. “The free airtime will be over in fifteen seconds.”

  Melissa spoke fast to beat the deadline. “It was nice speaking without worrying about airtime.” She returned to the kitchen to check on her cooking.

  Freddie went back to his laptop and searched the internet for information about GPS tracking, cell tracking, voice recognition, speech recognition and electroshock weapons. As the CIB agent had said at the Civil Registry office, he had to treat the electronic gag like a vital organ. He knew how the vital organs of his body worked and he wanted to know how the electronic gag worked.

  There was a loud knock on the door. Freddie froze. This was the kind of knock that could only come from the police or the CIB.

  “In the name of President Brandon Ward, I order you to open the door,” the knocker demanded.

  Shuddering, Freddie closed the internet browser and opened the door. Two CIB agents burst into the house and flashed their badges at him. This is it, he thought. They found out I was in the political gathering with Michael.

  “You misused the four minutes of free airtime that the government of the Ten Districts of America gave you for the national anthem,” the older of the agents said. “At twelve every citizen must stand at attention and sing the national anthem yet you were discussing nonsense.”

  “Sorry patriot. We didn’t―”

  “You are lucky you didn’t say anything against the Ten Districts. The supreme leader told us to be lenient during the first two weeks of NASP because people are not yet used to the program.”

  “If you do it next time you will be in big trouble,” the other agent said. “At twelve o’clock NASP alerts us when the graph of a anyone’s voice doesn’t correspond to the national anthem. The system will also alert us if you say a word that is not in the national anthem during the four minutes of free airtime. Good day. Next time you won’t get off the hook so easily.”

  The CIB agents walked out.

  Freddie heaved a sigh of relief and looked at Melissa. She was leaning against the wall to stop herself from collapsing with fear. He wanted to say, “These bastards should leave us alone,” but knowing the CIB could hear him, he only said, “That was close.”

  Melissa said nothing. She was still recovering from the shock. Now she knew the hold that electronic gags gave the government over the people. If she said a wrong word she would be arrested in minutes.

  “They are gone, mom,” Freddie assured. “It’s over.”

  “Freddie, I thought... I thought they were going to arrest us,” she said, shaking.

  “They won’t come back again, mom,” he assured. “We won’t repeat the mistake.”

  “I have finished making lunch,” she steered their conversation to a safer topic. “You can help yourself if you are hungry. The CIB scared my appetite away.”

  “I’m hungry,” Freddie said, switching off his laptop.

  Melissa filled a lunchbox with food.

  “I am going to warn Kyle not to forget singing the national anthem at twelve,” she spoke fast to save airtime.

  Freddie waved at her and she waved back before she carried the lunchbox to her nephew.

  * * * * *

  “We are going to church today,” Melissa told Freddie in the morning on Sunday.

  He nodded. He knew there was no arguing. His mother was easygoing in everything except religious matters. When he was in her house, he had to go to church every Sunday.

  “Go and tell your cousin to get ready for church.”

  Freddie nodded. “Will you sing away all your airtime at church? Will the preacher have enough airtime?”

  “We are going to church and that’s final.”

  They simultaneously pulled out the keypad and display panels of their electronic gags and checked their NASP balances.

  Freddie went to his late grandmother’s house and found Kyle in the basement, tapping the keys of his computer.

  “Get ready for church,” Freddie said curtly. He had no airtime for pleasantries.

  “Church? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Kyle, I have no airtime to waste arguing with you. Mom said you must get dressed for church.”

  “Aunt Melissa and her church,” Freddie grumbled, rising from his chair.

  Freddie, Kyle and Melissa arrived at church at 10:32 and found a seat at the back.

  “Ladies and gentleman, brothers and sisters in Christ,” Reverend Andrews, the church minister was saying, “today we shall try to worship and praise the Lord as always. When we sing, those who can afford the airtime will sing and those who can’t will clap their hands to the tune. We won’t allow our poverty to stop us from praising the Lord. A well-wisher gave me the airtime that made it possible for me to preach today. Mrs Owen, I thank you for your generosity. Let’s clap hands for Mrs Owen.”

  The members of the congregation grudgingly clapped hands. Sarah Owen was a shameless show-off. She was rich and she came to church to show off her wealth. Whenever she donated money to the church, she made sure that the church minister announced her donation. She believed that the main use for money was flaunting it to those who didn’t have it. She drove the most expensive car in the congregation and she always wore expensive clothes and jewelry.

  When it was time to sing, the church choir played an instrumental of a
popular hymn. Children under fifteen sang the hymn and adults clapped hands. Sarah Owen saw this as a good opportunity to show off. She was the only adult in the congregation who could afford to sing and she was going to let everyone know that. She sang with a high voice, though she knew she couldn’t sing well. She didn’t mind the discord. She was showing all the losers in the church that she was rich. When the minister preached, Sarah Owen was the only one who interjected with shouts of “hallelujah” and “amen.” She had never enjoyed church like this.

  “It’s time for the closing prayer,” Reverend Andrews said when he finished his sermon. “Can anyone please say the closing prayer?”

  “Let’s pray,” Sarah Owen shouted, glad of another opportunity to flaunt her wealth. She went on to say the longest prayer in the history of the church.

  “I hate Sarah Owen,” Freddie couldn’t resist telling his mother on the way home.

  “Everyone hates her,” Melissa said. “Of all the people in church today, she was the only one glad to wear a NAST.”

  “She looks like she is stinking rich,” Kyle said. “When I sell my video games I will show her that she is not the only one who can make money.”

  “Mom and Kyle, I will see you later,” Freddie said. “I have to see someone.”

  Melissa and Kyle waved at Freddie and he waved back. He turned right and went to Michael’s home. He was desperate for news about Michael.

  He opened the gate and looked round the yard, remembering how he and Michael played here when they were boys. Freddie and Michael were so different that Freddie sometimes wondered what drew them so close. Freddie was quiet and cautious whilst Michael was vocal and rash. Now Freddie knew what drew them together. Both Freddie and Michael were raised by single mothers and when they were small boys, they helped each other fix household appliances for their mothers, mow the lawn and do all the work that men of the neighborhood did for their wives. Their mothers had no husbands and the two boys vowed to do everything they could for them. When they finished the work, Freddie and Michael would sit outside, talking about what they would do for their moms when they grew up.